"We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools." - Martin Luther King Jr.

Chapter 29: "Perish Together as Fools"

Watson:

Carter quivered next to me, his breathing fast and panicked. Holmes was on my other side ignoring him completely, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed as he tried to think.

We were waiting while Clyde directed his men in covering the shallow patch of earth that they had disturbed at the foot of the grave.

To think that the cursed documents had been in this yard the entire time…not a foot below the surface as Holmes and I had visited Andrew's grave closer to the front of the cemetery!

In only a few moments they would finish and take us, like Andrew, to die 'accidentally'. Only Mycroft would be suspicious…but he would never be able to prove it. After all our efforts and all our struggles it was to end, here in this tiny, relatively unknown village in Scotland.

Never again would we see Baker Street or Mrs. Hudson, who in truth had become quite close to us and I believe fond of Holmes, whom she treated more like a precocious son than a tenant.

I wondered briefly if Holmes had any family to speak of save his brother. How would they react to his death? Would Mycroft tell them?

I had no close relatives…besides Holmes I was genuinely alone in the world…

A terrible thought struck my mind, and I recalled the very idea that had been running through my head at the commencement of this nightmare.

Mary.

Gentle, beautiful Mary, my wife to be, would never learn the true circumstances of my death. She would believe that I had forgotten her…had sacrificed my life on a dangerous mission with Holmes without even a qualm for her feelings.

I would never be able to call her my wife, never hold her, never love her. Never make a home or have children with her.

The truth of this rang coldly through my head and my heart ached sharply. Now more than ever I wanted all that – I wanted it almost more than anything…I would regret it as sharply as the loss of Holmes himself, and the futile end of his brilliant career and marvelous mind.

It could not be…I would not let that happen.

I pulled at the ropes at my hands, sharply ignoring the ache in my wrist….

My wrist.

Oh heavens, I was an imbecile! The bandaging!

Holmes had not stirred beside me, but his eyes were now fixed on the shadowy forms before us. Clyde had opened the folder and was examining the papers, smiling in triumph. Carter's eyes were closed and he was pleading under his breath to every god under the sun.

I used my numb fingers to pry at the bandages and felt them shift, they had made my wrist nearly a centimeter or two thicker…it would work. It had to work.

I began to work quickly, feeling the soft material readily giving way. In just a moment, I should be free...

Clyde was shuffling the papers back together, his expression satisfied. The rest of the men were gathered around him as he began to speak and gesture, obviously quite pleased with himself.

There was only one guard beside us…perhaps with Holmes' help…

Sweat began to surface on my hands with my efforts…but I had the bandaging loose now…it hung limply around my wrist, damaged through the rough handling and my own efforts. I now tried to tug the swollen appendage through the ropes, biting down on my tongue to stifle the groans that rose to my lips as it panged sharply.

Holmes had grown very tense beside me, he was casting his eyes about us, his gaze becoming desperate.

Clyde was done speaking…he turned back towards us, his followers behind him.

But then my heart leapt in exhilaration as my sweat-soaked wrist suddenly popped free! Ignoring the stiffness of my arms I turned and plowed my left fist into the man who had been standing guard over us. Holmes stared in astonishment; then, recovering with remarkable quickness, he plowed into the man, knocking him over and falling atop him.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Carter bent and seized a knife from the man's belt, beginning to work at the ropes.

Clyde and his men shouted and started for us.

I snatched up our guard's gun, pulled Holmes roughly to his feet, and all three of us began to sprint toward the entrance of the yard, united in the common cause of survival.

Shots rang around us, nicking the headstones and sending chips of granite flying. I thanked Providence for the blessed darkness and continued.

We had just made it out of the yard when Holmes stumbled suddenly and fell, still unbalanced because of his bound arms.

I took hold of Carter's arm pulling him to a stop and snatched the knife from his hands, severing the ropes.

"Holmes?" I managed to gasp though my chest ached and every breath was a battle.

His answer was to surge to his feet and pull me to mine, his arm steadying me as we began to run again.

Carter followed us, as though afraid of being left alone. Holmes took the lead now, drawing ahead and pulling me with him as my strength began to flag dramatically. I could not keep up this pace.

Finally as an especially sharp stab ran through my chest I stopped with a moan, nearly doubling over and pulling Holmes to a halt. I clutched my ribs, and met my friend's desperate gaze.

"Holmes…" I gasped in despair, I couldn't run anymore. "I – I can't…"

My friend shot an anxious glance at the pursuit and then at the trees that surrounded us.

He sucked in his breath in surprise or satisfaction and drew me over to a stand of ash trees that were embedded heavily in undergrowth.

Yet again I had reason to marvel at his incredible eyesight as he pushed me down into a small hollow below the branches and bushes…

It was not an ideal hiding place, but it would have to do.

Holmes left me and a moment later returned with Carter, whom he shoved down beside me before squatting himself.

We sat for several moments in silence before Holmes suddenly grew rigid.

"Holmes?"

One of his thin hands placed itself over my mouth, warning me to silence. And in another minute I knew why as a light and several heavy pairs of boots passed by us.

"They could nae possibly have vanished so quickly…they don't know the country."

Carter whimpered slightly and I saw Holmes clamp his free hand on the back of the coward's neck in warning… the voices continued.

"Do you think I care, Sommers? Their escape could be just as damaging as the documents!"

Clyde's voice, harsh with menace, sent a shiver down my spine, but I stayed quiet behind Holmes's hand.

"I want them found now…I do not tolerate failure or betrayal from my men."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Clyde."

In another instant they had passed us and their conversation was replaced by the footsteps of the others. More lights passed…my legs grew cramped with this sudden inactivity. I felt Holmes's hand quiver with tension.

And then they were gone.

The detective released his grip, allowing me to fold forward onto the muddy ground, breathing heavily, reveling in the solid feel of the earth…at its stillness.

Holmes had evidently also released Carter for the traitor whimpered again and spoke in a voice more suited to a young child. His whining voice grated on my nerves and throbbed in my head as I lay on the cold ground, trying to breath without wheezing.

"They're gonnae kill us…there's nothing we can do…they'll find us!"

"They will if you don't be quiet!" Holmes spat at him, relaxing himself. He turned me onto my back and ran his hands gently over my ribcage…feeling the bones.

Sherlock Holmes was by no means a medical doctor, but among other things he had a strong knowledge of anatomy. And what he found evidently did not please him, for he sighed heavily and pulled my coat tighter around me.

"Forgive me, Watson, we must go on." He said quietly, rising to his feet and drawing me up with him, eliciting another sharp ache and a groan from me. Carter scrambled up as well and prepared to follow.

Holmes shot him a disgusted look but said nothing – it was better if he came with us, for leaving him behind would only leave a trail and a possible witness to point out the direction of our escape.

My friend led the way further into the trees at a mercifully slower rate than before. The sounds of pursuit still followed us but they were dim, the light of the dark lantern faint and distant…and after a while they faded altogether.

"Have – have we lost them?" I gasped, wishing desperately for another halt, no matter how brief.

Holmes looked behind us again at the empty darkness. "Not for long…they'll spread out soon to cover more ground. Are you all right, Watson?"

"I – I've been better."

Holmes laughed dryly and at long last stopped allowing me to sink to the ground for a second time.

My friend kept to his feet, his breathing under better control now, he kept his eyes warily on the way we had come.

"Mycroft must be on his way by now…how long has it been, Watson?"

I shook my head, which was spinning so badly I was growing dizzy, "I – I can't even see my own hand properly, Holmes, let alone the face of my watch."

Holmes smiled grimly and pulled his own timepiece out of his pocket. "It is nearly ten o'clock."

"Then it has been more than two hours," I said, stiffly sitting up so I could see about us better.

Holmes crouched beside one of the trees, the moonlight coloring and shadowing his face oddly. "Unless Tavish is a complete idiot, my brother will have convinced him by now."

"Tavish?" Carter whispered from where he sat not four feet away.

I shifted away from him and Holmes turned his glare on him once again.

"Oh yes, Carter…Tavish and his men should be here shortly, along with one of the most influential men in the government. Say goodbye to your twisted concepts and tyrannical sept. Neither will survive this night, no matter what fates befall us…Clyde is finished…and so are you."

Carter swallowed and scooted back between his trees as though hopeful he could vanish into the shadows they cast. I almost wished he would vanish – I was growing weary of the little blighter.

Holmes smirked at Carter's obvious discomfort and turned his head to continue his watch.

I closed my eyes and rested my head against a pine. It was so very close to being over, and I was so very, very tired…surely Mycroft and the police were on their way. This wait was the last stretch I was certain…the last proverbial darkness before the dawn.

All we had to do was wait…help would come. It had to. Having lasted this long surely we could survive till the end.

Holmes:

Miraculously, they had not found us thus far…but we were not out of the water yet. We should have to move on in the near future.

I glanced at Watson, a stab of worry creasing my face, hating the idea. The poor chap had already gone beyond the normal bounds of a man in his condition. It was evident that every effort was costing him, and he was already exhausted. He needed rest and warmth and another sedative, though I doubted I would be able to persuade him to take it after my betrayal of earlier.

I hated to think of what further damage had been caused to his ribs and wrist, now that it lacked any support…

I smiled, recalling my surprise and elation at my realization that he had slipped free of the bandaging. Brilliant, resourceful Watson - I should never get his limits, no matter how long I knew him.

I sobered as my friend burst into another round of coughing, nearly doubling over with a choked cry of pain, shivering in the chill air.

Stubborn was another word to describe my friend…the fool was dressed only in a jacket and that along with his other clothes had grown damp with sweat. I took off my Inverness and put it gently over him.

Much to my alarm, he did not object – proof of the level of pain he was in.

I sighed and tried again to concentrate on the way we had come, poised to hear any sound or notice any sign of pursuit…there was nothing yet.

Where in heaven's name was Mycroft?

A sudden sound made me start but it had come from behind us rather than in front. I whirled around to see Watson sitting quite erect and alert, his eyes fixed in a frightened stare on Carter.

The Scotsman was smiling, and holding the revolver that Watson had set beside him on the ground.

I cursed myself mentally - of course Watson was far too exhausted to be expected to keep an eye on the weasel…I should have watched him more carefully. I stepped forward, trying to put myself between them.

"Don't, Mr. Holmes," he said, cocking the gun to make his point.

"Carter, don't be an idiot…you are already facing a prison sentence."

"Oh, much more than that, Mr. Holmes. Do you really think your government would let me walk free after all this? No, I'm taking my chances now."

"If you leave now you will be caught by the sept," I said, my voice soft and steady, a tone one would use to calm a frantic dog. "Come with us, and I may be able to speak for you in court."

Carter laughed, a twisted smile coming over his face, "That's a good one, Mr. Holmes, but I'm no idiot, and I have no desire to languish in a prison cell…but you may be of use to me yet."

And with that, he aimed the gun and fired point-blank.

I was thrown backward as a great force tore my leg out from under me and I struck the damp, cold soil with a startled half-cry. A wave of fire washed over me spreading out from the growing stain, and I shuddered and groaned, clutching at it.

I vaguely heard shouting and I was aware of steady hands pushing my shoulders back onto the ground.

"Holmes, lie still. Lie still - don't move!" The voice of my dear Watson quavered on the edge of panic and I watched under half-shut lids as he rose to his feet, his face crimson with rage.

"YOU FIEND!"

I heard Carter chuckle. "I think I should get away from the authorities and the sept quite easily now with you two to distract them."

"CARTER, I SHALL KILL YOU!"

Never before had I heard such a tone from Watson's lips. It was so out of character, so bloodthirsty and angry that I could not repress a shiver.

"No, Doctor, you will not - or I shall shoot you as well…and you are already too weak to assist Mr. Holmes as it is. Pity, really…such a promising career and it ends unsung by even his chronicler. If I were you, Watson, I would run – then perhaps you shall live to tell the world of his ignominious death."

"I will find you, Carter, I do not care how long it takes…I shall hunt you down and I shall not rest until I have put a bullet in your head!"

Carter laughed and I knew from his voice that there was a sneer on his face. "But not now, eh Doctor? You won't leave your friend…not the good, noble Watson. Stay with him then…and give Mr. Clyde my regards."

His footsteps announced his departure, leaving us alone in the darkness, now weaponless. Watson stood helplessly beside me, shaking with exhaustion and fury, glaring after the departing man.

The shock of the wound was wearing off and another wave of pain washed over me. Never had I felt such a sensation before…such a deep and intense agony. I felt sick and agitated; I wanted to vanish into the cold and darkness.

I could do neither, I could only gasp helplessly and roll onto my side clutching the appendage, trying to curl myself around the hurt.

"Holmes." Watson was at my side in an instant, his hands pressing me down a second time. "I'm here, let me see."

"Watson." I clutched at his arm, trying to steady myself.

"I'm here, Holmes." He repeated, pushing me gently back as his medical instincts took control. I felt him rip open the leg of my trousers and gently probe the wound.

He sighed shakily, and began to remove various articles of clothing.

"The bullet went through, and the bone is intact…you'll be all right." He pressed his cap around the wound and began to tie it tightly with his scarf.

I yelped but then bit down on my tongue, remembering. We could not afford to be heard, not after…

The shot.

Carter had fired a shot!

"Watson!" I gasped, using his sleeve to pull myself up.

"Don't move, Holmes, the blood loss…"

"He fired a shot, Watson! They can't have missed that!"

Watson froze, and he looked into my face, his own a mask of terror.

"Holmes, I – I cannot carry you!"

"Never mind that – get out of here!"

Watson's grip on my arm was sudden and painful, and his face had turned rigid.

"Don't you ever, and I mean ever, suggest such a thing, Holmes…don't even say it." His voice was as hard as his expression and brooked no argument.

So I gave none…and I was shamefully grateful that he would not leave me so easily.

"We cannot stay here, Watson."

"No we cannot…but we cannot run, either," he said, gazing out over the fields around us. Then his gaze stopped and he smiled slightly. "So we shall hide."

And my extraordinary friend carefully lifted me and pulled my arm around his shoulders, holding it as tightly as he was able with his right wrist, his left arm around my waist. Slowly he rose to his feet, giving me time to adjust my weight.

The leg bore my weight though every step sent another ripple of pain from the torn muscle and tissue. I tried to repress my groans and hobbled along as Watson slowly led me forward.

Now as I look back on that situation I am struck by the hopelessness of it, but I am also in awe of my friend.

Under those circumstances, with any other individual, I believe I should have given up in defeat…but not with Watson. There is a quality about my friend that I have often sensed but have never before been able to name.

It is this quality which gives me the confidence to stroll casually into dangerous situations, knowing without doubt he will always be watching my back. A quality that in times of war has allowed remarkable individuals like my friend to continue to survive and keep safe not only themselves but the men around them. As a boy I listened to such stories and thought them foolish…but that night in Rathclythe I was a firsthand witness to it.

For even as I hobbled painfully through the cold and the darkness with only a wounded, exhausted man to help me…a gang of bloodthirsty murderers on our trail…I felt quite safe.

Until from behind us we heard the tell-tale noise of approaching pursuit.

The anarchists had picked up our trail and were now coming for us.

TBC…